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  Herald of the Nine

  Demon Hunters, Book III

  Herald of the Nine, Demon Hunters, Book III

  Copyright © 2020 by Tiger Hebert. All rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under the copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of the author.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, descriptions, entities, and incidents included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, and entities is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Brightblade Press

  Cover Design by

  Bad Moon Art Studio

  Published in the United States of America

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Map of Northeastern Durghast

  1 The Road Forward

  2 Simply Enchanting

  3 Inner Demons

  4 Behind Enemy Lines

  5 Sound Stones

  6 Not Dying

  7 The Library

  8 Storming Mad

  9 Vacinne’s Room

  10 Spies

  11 Words of Treason

  12 Demonology

  13 Change of Heart

  14 Misdirection & Mayhem

  15 White and Blue

  16 At the End of All Things, Is War

  17 Darker Still

  18 Vei’thalo

  19 Broken Blade

  20 Clarity

  21 Onward

  About the Author

  To my boys, Eli and Isaac. I am so proud of you.

  Map of Northeastern Durghast

  Full-size map at www.tigerhebert.com/riftborn

  1

  The Road Forward

  Renlar and Vacinne stood at the royal forge in King Goldenhall’s palace. The dwarven smith pulled the glowing metal from the forge and laid it upon the anvil. He lifted his hammer into the air and slammed it down upon the red and orange metal. Over and over again he pounded the alloy into the shape he willed. Sweat beaded across the dwarf’s bald pate as he labored over the creation.

  The smith worked with undeniable skill. He was a dwarf after all, and few could match their skill in metalworking. That wasn’t what impressed Renlar the most, though. It was the sheer speed in which he was able to force the raw material into its final form. It was as if he were a Riftborn exerting his spirit, bending the metal to his own will. Though it was the mundane work of a mastersmith with over a hundred years of experience, the sight was nothing less than magical.

  The smith’s hammer rained down upon the long piece of still glowing metal until it was beaten into the shape of a longsword. The smith lifted the blade with large tongs and dunked the blade into his vat of dark oil to cool it. As the blade’s red glow faded, its blackened color was clear for all to see. Renlar smiled.

  “You’re remarkable, Master Dahlheim,” said Renlar.

  The smith never looked up. His eyes locked on his work. “I do what I can, Master Renlar.”

  “I’ll leave you to your work. When should I return?”

  “Everything will be ready by the time you’re done breakfast tomorrow,” said Dahlheim.

  “Very well, I’ll get out of your hair,” said Renlar.

  “I ain’t got any hair,” muttered Dahlheim.

  Renlar laughed, “I know.”

  With that Renlar took his leave from the forge.

  Renlar and Vacinne spent another day in Drenamere. She was eager to finish her quest, but Renlar needed time for the smith to finish his blades. Besides, she recognized they really needed the extra rest. They had completely drained their Spirit each of the previous two days, causing them to tap into their Will. Doing so was incredibly dangerous for most Riftborn, and Renlar alone had done it two days in a row. He’d been knocked unconscious both times and it had required Vacinne’s magic to help wake him. Vacinne realized that next time they might not be so lucky.

  So, as much as it drove her crazy, Vacinne tried to just enjoy the rest and relaxation. It was hard for her though. She’d never been one to sit still for long. She was always busy, whether back at home helping take care of her drunk father and her siblings or at the temple where she poured everything she had into her studies and her training. So, when Renlar and even King Goldenhall told her to just relax until the next day, it was a foreign concept.

  “I do suppose that if you’ve got to waste an entire day doing nothing, a king’s palace is a pretty good place to do it,” she thought aloud as she walked through one of the palace halls.

  The hall was like a museum. It had more weapons and armor than even the temple’s armory in Kothari. It was quite fascinating. She loved examining the older, far less intricate styles of armor that were used by the older generations of dwarves. The popular, but expensive intricately interwoven meshing and micro-plating that the Kantosian armor style was known for was relatively new. Master armorsmith Kantos had only created the concept in the last ten years and the armor was quite rare outside Drenamere and the Wardens.

  Vacinne had never had to wear the old style of traditional plate or chain armors, which were commonly displayed in these halls. She was thankful she didn’t have to wear such cumbersome and limiting gear. She wondered if she would have ever been able to wear some of them. Between the combination of the design and the sheer weight of the armors, she wondered if she’d have even been able to move in them, no less fight.

  “Quite a relief isn’t it,” said Renlar.

  She smiled and turned to see him standing behind her.

  “How do you always manage to sneak up on me?”

  “When you control the wind, it’s quite easy to wash away the sound of footfall,” he answered.

  She raised an eyebrow. “But you weren’t using your magic this time.”

  Renlar smiled at her.

  “You’re just good at... well... pretty much everything,” she said.

  “I can’t sing,” he said, raising his hands into the air.

  “Prove it,” she said as she smiled back.

  Renlar shook his head. “There is no one in this palace, nor any other part of Drenamere who wants to hear that.”

  “Not even Beggars’ Row?”

  “There is not enough alcohol in the world to make me sound good,” laughed Renlar.

  Vacinne pursed her lips as she studied his face. “Tell me something else you’re no good at.”

  “You’ve not shared any of your failings, yet,” countered Renlar.

  “I’m a terrible seamstress. My family was poor, so we had to make clothes last a long time. I sewed hundreds of patches, quite terribly, too!”

  Renlar said, “Practice didn’t make perfect?”

  “Apparently not. Hundreds of patches later, and the last one looked as sorry, crooked, and bunched up as the first. It was so bad that my younger brothers and sisters thought I was doing it on purpose to punish them for wearing out their clothes,” said Vacinne.

  They laughed.

  “That is bad,” said Renlar. “I am terrible at diplomacy and interrogations.”

  Vacinne replied, “That’s not going to be very helpful, considering we are about to infiltrate the Wardens. You do realize we are quite likely to need to interrogate people, right?”

  “I guess it’s a good thing I’m telling you now,” said Renlar with a shrug.

  “You’re scary as hell, how are you not good at interrogations?”

  Renlar let out a long sigh. “Eh, they take too lo
ng. I’ve usually got things to do, so I get bored, and when I get bored my knives start talking.”

  Vacinne’s eyes grew wide. “Okay, I will take the lead on interrogating people when the time comes.”

  Renlar nodded, “Good idea.”

  “Yeah,” she sighed.

  2

  Simply Enchanting

  King Goldenhall led Renlar and Vacinne through the palace toward the forge. Despite having been there earlier in the day, Renlar found the dwarven palace to be maze-like and was glad to have the king’s escort once more. They passed through hall after hall, before they finally reached the smithy. The room was lit with the warm orange glow of the blazing forge. Dahlheim the master swordsmith stood at the room’s center, with his arms cupped behind his back.

  “Greetings, my Lord,” said the smith.

  “Good evening, Dahlheim,” said King Goldenhall.

  The king led them toward the large table that the smith stood next to. The table was large and it had a number of objects on top of it, but it was all covered over with a black sheet. The king came to stop at the smith’s side.

  He turned to Renlar and said, “You’ve made a request of me. I expect you should find our efforts adequately meet your needs.”

  With that, the king nodded to the smith. Dahlheim stepped forward, grasped the black sheet and pulled it away with care, revealing the assortment of objects on the table. Renlar’s jaw dropped and his eyes grew wide. Twelve new daggers and a pair of twin swords lay on the table before him. Each blade black as night, save for the small acid etched signatures of the master swordsmith. The hilts were expertly wrapped with fine black leather, stitched together with a blood red thread. The daggers alone were stunning, but the swords stole Renlar’s attention right away. The twin longswords were a departure from the curving elegance of the scimitars he’d used for so long, but they were a conscious decision on his part. Though he preferred curved blades for swordplay, the longswords would prove much better at skewering when thrown with the wind.

  Renlar studied the twin blades. The longswords were black from tip to pommel, with only the red stitching in the hilt offering any contrast. Even the crossguard and pommel were blacker than midnight oil. Renlar reached out, his fingers running over the smooth, taut surface of the tightly wrapped leather hilt, down to the flat side of the blade. His fingers glided over the smooth, cold metal.

  “Highest grade drenamine steel, just as you requested,” said Dahlheim.

  Renlar nodded. He grasped a hilt in each hand as he lifted the two blades from the table. His eyes studied the swords as he gauged their weight and balance.

  Dahlheim said, “I wasn’t sure if I could match your exact specifications. I made the blades a little shorter than traditional long swords at only two and a half feet, but still maintained the traditional long two-handed hilts. Fortunately, the incredible density of drenamine allowed for me to find the right ratio in the steel alloy to allow for proper balancing.”

  The smith held out his hand, requesting one of the swords. Renlar deftly turned the blade in his grip and extended the hilt to Dahlheim. The smith held the blade out horizontally in front of himself and steadied the heavy blade upon two fingers.

  “Impressive,” marveled Renlar.

  Dahlheim returned the blade back to Renlar, who was eager to get his hands on it again. With the longswords in his grasp, he stepped away from the others. Then he began a graceful, silent kata. The pristine blades danced in his hands as he slashed, spun, and thrust with ease. The Black Blade’s dance lasted barely a minute or more, then he came to a stop. Renlar’s smile returned.

  “Your work is incredible Master Dahlheim, I am honored to wield such weapons,” said Renlar with a reverential bow.

  King Goldenhall spoke up. “That’s not all though.”

  Renlar and Vacinne both looked to the king, each raising an eyebrow.

  The king turned to Dahlheim.

  The master smith said, “After everything you’ve done for the people of Drenamere, it was only fitting that we gave you something... more.”

  Renlar said, “I don’t understand.”

  “The blades have been enchanted upon the king’s request.” Dahlheim pointed to Vacinne’s blade and said, “They are no Ashthorill Runeblades, but you’ll be hard pressed to find anything better made by mortal hands.”

  Renlar’s gaze intensified upon the blades. “What kind of enchantment?”

  Dahlheim ran his fingers through his thick gray beard. “We wanted something fitting for you, and your abilities. Each blade has been enchanted with two forms of energy. The first is kinetic energy. As your blades move, they build kinetic energy at an accelerated rate. Throwing a dagger would be akin to say, throwing a spear. The buildup of kinetic energy doesn’t last long, it’s gone in seconds, but for rapid striking, it can turn already deadly weapons into something entirely different.”

  Renlar set the swords down in exchange for one of the newly crafted black daggers. His eyes went from the wooden target dummy on the other side of the room back to the master smith.

  “Go ahead,” said Dahlheim. “Mentally, trigger the enchantment simply by thinking or saying kinetic.”

  Renlar nodded, then flipped the dagger in his hands so he was holding the dagger by the blade.

  “Kinetic,” he said.

  Pale spidery threads of green energy swirled around the black dagger. Renlar drew his arm back as he flipped the blade toward the dummy. He didn’t rear back or even really step into the throw, it was just an accurate, but casual throw. The dagger shot from his hand as you’d expect. The thrown blade tumbled through the air like any throwing knife would.

  Then it hit the target dummy.

  The black dagger tip dove into the wood dummy with the log-splitting force of lumberjack’s swing. The wood cracked and split violently as the dagger buried deep into the dummy’s core. Vacinne and Renlar’s mouths dropped.

  “Are you kidding me?” exclaimed Vaccine.

  Renlar said nothing, he just stood there in stunned silence.

  “The enchantment is incredibly powerful. The energy is accumulated by the blade’s movement, but the energy is only stored for seconds,” said Dahlheim.

  “So, in a long battle, the weapons would constantly gain and lose kinetic energy,” asked Renlar.

  Dahlheim replied, “Sorta, you have to understand that kinetic energy wants to be released. So, when you threw that dagger, all the kinetic energy was discharged upon impact to create what you just saw. So that dagger would need to be recharged again, through movement.”

  “Okay, I think I understand,” said Renlar. “The dagger was enchanted when I held it in my fingers, but it actually didn’t have any kinetic energy until it was thrown.”

  Dahlheim nodded. “Correct. So, in swordplay, theoretically you would be constantly charging and discharging the energy every time your crossed blades.”

  Vacinne chimed in, “So in hand to hand combat, it isn’t that effective. It’s really best used for his daggers.”

  “Will it work when trading blades? Yes. But it is really most effective when the daggers are thrown. I believe that’s why Master Renlar requested longswords, rather than scimitars,” said Dahlheim.

  “That’s right,” said Renlar as he walked across the room to retrieve his black dagger. He could have easily ripped it from the dummy, but he wanted to get an up-close and personal inspection of the damage his easy toss had created. The empowered dagger had indeed done a number on the dummy, rending it in half pop, like a split log. It took him a moment, but he finally yanked the blade free.

  Renlar turned back to his companions and made his way to the table. He set the dagger back down next to the others.

  Renlar looked up at the swordsmith. “You said there were two enchantments.”

  Dahlheim smiled, “This one I’m particularly fond of. I call it stormburst. It infuses the weapon with an electrical charge, and it can pack a nasty punch.”

  “How does it work?
” asked Renlar.

  “Grab a sword,” said the smith.

  Renlar pulled one from the table.

  “It is a magical enchantment, but it behaves in a natural fashion. If you bring a blade enchanted with stormburst into a fight, the electricity could arc outward toward your opponent. It is an unpredictable beast, it has a mind of its own, but it can be quite handy. An individual electrical blast is not typically deadly, but it hurts like hell and can debilitate an adversary for a time. Just make sure you don’t take it when you go swimming, or your teeth ‘ll be clenched and you’ll be pissin’ down yer leg,” said Dahlheim with a laugh.

  With the sword in his grasp, Renlar made his way away from his companions back to the other side of the smithy toward a weapons rack. Several recently crafted blades of different designs hung all in a row.

  Renlar said, “Stormburst.”

  Electrical power enveloped the blade. Pale blue strands of power could be seen coursing over the swords surface. Renlar extended the blade toward the swords that hung on the weapon rack. Brilliant blue lightning arced outward to the metal surface of the nearest blade. Sparks flew and a waft of black smoke filled the air. Reflexively, Renlar let go of the blade as he jumped backward.

  The black longsword clattered to the floor of the smithy, and Dahlheim laughed.

  “It’ll leave you jumpy at first, but you’ll get used to it,” said the swordsmith.

  Renlar cautiously stepped toward the sword. He waited for the lightning to arc outward and lash him, but it never did. He squatted down and reluctantly picked it up off the floor.

  “How do I... shut it off?”

  “The enchantments are sort of like a living spell. In the same way that you can command the enchantments to turn on, you can command them to stop,” answered the dwarf.

  Vacinne marveled at all of it. “I’m jealous.”

  Dahlheim turned to her, his face serious, as he gestured to the blade that hung from her hip. “You should envy no one, Warden. The blade that you carry is an Angel’s blade and is greater than anything I could ever make. If you learn to command its power, you’ll understand.”